


yakihatsu formula

by nascar



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Futuristic, Ice Cream, M/M, Making Out, Stick n pokes, a meet cute... of sorts, planetariums, world war iiii
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18843094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nascar/pseuds/nascar
Summary: It’s December 3001 when Australia melts over, Saturn tips a ring and Mark Lee decides that he’s going to die. He’s going to die by communists, or the ones that hunt communists, hell he might even be a communist, this country is going to shit. He decides he’s going to die under the stars though. Old fashioned by a few hundred years but it’s right for him.





	yakihatsu formula

**Author's Note:**

> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/celvish/playlist/1ZA0GPivsskFZyEPRaozLr?si=7IEDAlcTS3aO8xDX6IFdNA) \+ [insp](https://mythicdelirium.com/from-the-mythic-delirium-books-archives)  
> kudos & comments mean a lot!

It’s December 3001 when Australia melts over, Saturn tips a ring and Mark Lee decides that he’s going to die. He’s going to die by communists, or the ones that hunt communists, hell he might even be a communist, this country is going to shit. He decides he’s going to die under the stars though. Old fashioned by a few hundred years but it’s right for him. 

 

Except for the fact that it’s three in the afternoon and the sky is hazy blue color mixed in with this orangecream kind of hue that showed up after mars exploded. No stars. His shirt is sticking to him like it’s going to kill him. Suffocate him maybe. December isn’t cold anymore, everything is warm, unless it’s Australia. 

 

Space Jam planetarium is one of those places reserved for third-grade trips and the smell of wet grass. There’s plush carpeting and some electrofunk buzzy music that spills out of static speakers. There’s also some buzzkill theater operator and a tour guide with legs for miles, bubblepop gum and pearlypink haircolor. Space Jam is somewhere you forget about after the first six years of school. It’s also home to the two utmost things Mark needs moments from death. 

 

First of those being, the night sky. Or at least a version closer to him than the four hours he’d have to wait for the real deal. Death by commies waits for no skinny limbed nerd named Mark Lee. Canada is at war. There’s no time for the night sky anymore, not after Canada invaded old-America and New Zealand became Old Zealand, making way for the Serbs. Now the damn Russians own everything and Canada is still fighting communism. 

 

The second thing Mark is sure to be a must for his pre-death plans is, Donghyuck Lee. All five feet and eight inches of him. He’s one year under Mark, attends the high school on the other side of town, and has this permanent strawberry slushy glow about his mouth. Pink lips, pink tongue, great hair. 

 

He’s like some holographic daydream, crawling around Mark’s monkeybrain like an olympic gymnast. 

 

He also plays basketball. That means two things. It actually means several things but there are only two things that interest Mark Lee about that. One, basketball shorts. These short shorts that slip up every now and then and make Mark wonder if this is what dying feels like. The second thing that basketball means is that Donghyuck plays Basketball. That in itself is hot. Hot like sweaty headbands and sneakers on polished wood and that damn jersey. Hot because he’s good at it. He’s  _ so  _ good at it. Good enough to be co-head of the basketball team of Mark’s rival school. 

 

So Mark is going to die, and he still has a crush on Donghyuck Lee. Maybe Australia has nothing to do with it. Maybe it’s always about co-head of the Carlisle Cougers Donghyuck Lee. 

 

That’s Mark’s business though. 

  
  
  


Mark remembers the first time he met Lee Donghyuck in the flesh. They were mutuals through Flicksta, probably following each other through mutual friends. 

 

Mark had walked into the place on a September evening, hiding from the heat and his stepmother who had decided that Mark Lee would die via window shopping torture. 

 

The boy at the counter looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else, he also looked hot as fuck. He was peachy, shimmering under twinkling lobby lights. Superlunary. Mark doesn't know how to keep up with that so he asks, "Hey you play basketball, right?"

 

It should have been Mark that blew away in the silent hell of space, not Mars. At least Mars never said anything. 

 

“Yeah I shoot uh,” He shifted his weight so that he tilted back on one heel clumsily, “hoops.”

 

There was this weird bubble of static around them for a second that’s probably one-sided. It felt like a game of pinball. Mark trying to keep the ball going and Donghyuck, well he was just there.

  
  
  


That became his routine for a few months, come in, make small talk, try and get something out of Donghyuck. Sort of rob him. Rummage around him and come up with something shiny. Like how his favorite flavor is Mango and he hates sour things. Like how he once paid for a bike with two hundred dollars in pennies. Something shiny like how he’d had a fling with Lee Jeno last summer before they became best friends instead. Maybe give a little in exchange, like how Mark likes dogs, watermelon with salt and old music, stuff like Lil Uzi Vert and Travis Scott. On another day, his twelfth Tuesday at Space Jam, he learns about Donghyuck’s tattoo.  

  
  
  


“You have a tattoo?” Mark asks earnestly, pointing at this little mark above Donghyuck’s elbow. 

 

The younger boy looks up through a fluff of orange bangs, “Huh?” Then back down at his arm, “Oh yeah, I got a stick n’ poke from my college friend.”

That sounds cool, vintage. A stick n’ poke. 

 

It’s this little snake design, curled up and slumbering in Donghyuck’s skin. Oh to be a reptilian stick n’ poke tattoo on Lee Donghyuck’s arm. 

 

“Cool.” Mark nodded.  _ Cool.  _

 

He remembers desperately shifting around in his brain for something to keep Lee Donghyuck alive, keep him interested in Mark. But he didn’t even have to because then Donghyuck tells him that he gets off work at eight if Mark wants to go somewhere. 

 

So Donghyuck gets off at eight and they go to get ice cream. 

  
  


That becomes a routine too. Donghyuck getting off of work and walking with Mark to the Hawaiian ice cream shop. It’s a little outdated and the flavors are limited but Mark likes how the yellow lighting bathes Donghyuck in a loveable lighting, makes him glow a little extra. They have fries too, that Donghyuck dips into his Mango bowl and claims its the best thing left on earth when Mark wrinkles his nose. 

 

They talk about a lot of things. Like how Donghyuck’s parents have divorced and took his sister with them. And how he doesn’t even really like space or planets, he’s working on his pilot license and his father owns the air and space museum. And how he’s never seen a giraffe, they’ve been extinct for a decade, but they’re his favorite animal. 

  
  
  


Somehow Donghyuck convinces Mark to come to one of Jung Jaehyun’s parties. It’s not that impressive as far as parties go, but the lights are nice and the music is good. And Donghyuck is drunk. 

 

Donghyuck giggles, like Giggles. Bubbly, bright, and technicolored. Then he reaches up with one puffy sleeve to smooth the crease from between Mark’s eyebrows. His hand leaves behind a glowing feeling, like bioluminescent glow stick slush smeared from Mark’s forehead down to the crest of his lips. 

 

“My friends like you,” He tells Mark. 

 

Jeno that drunk would probably like anyone but Mark doesn’t say that because he doesn’t really think it. What he does think is that if Donghyuck wasn’t blasted right now he’d press Donghyuck’s right hip to the wall and kiss him silly. Sillier. 

 

"I like your friends too." Is what Mark would have said if he wasn't so Hyuckstupid. Stupid only for Donghyuck. So what he actually says is, "I like you." 

 

Then, there's the weight of Donghyuck's sweaty forehead pressed snugly into the cut of Mark's jaw and he smells like this boyish cologne mixed with something sweeter like sandalwood. Everything is a grainy orange and Mark is drowning in it until the lights turn lime again.

 

"I like you too Vancouver."

 

After that, the world is a blur of Madonna's smash hits and a sleeping Donghyuck. His lips are parted slightly, enough to see the glint of metallic green and feel the cool little puffs of hair he lets out. He settles into Mark on the couch back by the kitchen. 

 

Before Yukhei shows up to take Donghyuck home, Mark Lee, buzzed, fits his thumb to the hollow of Donghyuck's brow, slips down to trace the green shadow cloaking his eyelashes and whispers, "I like you forever."

  
  
  


On the last day of school Mark slams his ticket down on the Space Jam front desk, he’s already seen the show, he’s seen all the shows. It’s not about what he’s seen though, this is about what he’s about to say to Lee Donghyuck. Mark Lee, all scabby elbows and sunburned face. Mark Lee with his epically disproportionate head that is threatening to either tip off his shoulders or float into the sky.  

 

Donghyuck doesn’t look up immediately. He takes his time to finish the sentence of his reading, carefully bookmarks the page, takes a sip of that god awful mango slush abomination and then blinks up at Mark, finally, like he’s waiting. Like he already knows what Mark is going to say but decides that he’s going to let him say it all anyway. He’s generous in that way. 

 

“Mark,” He acknowledges, rather importantly, not even bothering to look down at Mark’s ticket. 

 

Yes, on with it. Always on with it. The communists are on their way, dogs on leashes and snapping, foaming up the sea as they pull through the ocean to Canada, there’s no time for dilly dally. 

 

So Mark Lee wipes the sweat from his palms on the front of his mathletics t-shirt and says, “I like you, so much. I like-like you.”

 

There’s a quietness in the air, like soft treading. Mark could do the bunny hop in mid-air and no noise would come. Just, solitude. Donghyuck watches Mark out of the palm of his hand, wrist cramped against his jaw and his head is tilted to the right. 

 

“You like me?” He asks, like he knows. He does know, because Mark just told him. 

 

Mark nods. 

 

“Okay,” He smiles, hiding a grin behind a crooked pinky. 

 

“Okay?” Mark asks, taking up relatively less space than Donghyuck’s calm. 

 

The door opens with a zipping whir and another guest enters right as Donghyuck hides his smile away and tells Mark, “Okay.” Before picking his book back up, eyes still glowing. 

  
  


“I was drafted,” Donghyuck tells him on Saturday, little shoes dangling from where he perches on the metro railing. He takes a long sip from a mango Icee, biting at the end of the straw, waiting for Mark’s sandbag heart to drop. 

 

Drafted means off to the war. Off against the commies. Off in the snow, the slush, the bitterness of a world ending like the scorching planes of northern Canada and frigid island glaciers. Fired at and with and against and churned into the soup of the war until you’re nice and dissolved. That’s going to be Lee Donghyuck. 

 

Lee Donghyuck who still hasn’t gotten his braces off, who plays as co-head of the Carlisle Cougers, who works at Space Jam on the weekends and looks hot in button ups. Who has a real life stick n’ poke tattoo above his elbow. That Lee Donghyuck. The one that Mark has just barely cracked down the middle. This all makes for sloppy work. Sloppy unfairness. 

 

“Oh.” Mark says because that’s what you’re supposed to say because Lee Donghyuck is going to die in the war soup. 

 

It’s hard to imagine Donghyuck in the war. Hard to imagine him in those hard helmets and white suit encasings, sinking into the sludge like he never even mattered. It’s hard to imagine him sinking to the bottom of the New Atlantic, fighting a war against something you can’t feel, can’t touch.

 

“You wanna see the letter?” He asks Mark, holding out a holographic envelope that reflects off the subway lights, shiny and vinyl like. 

 

Mark doesn’t want to. 

 

He shakes his head, feeling something odd press down against his throat. 

 

“Yeah, okay.” Donghyuck tucks the letter back into his pocket. “You gonna miss me or something?” 

 

With his hair tousled and freshly washed, smelling like Watermelon hard candies and something distinctly innocent Mark thinks, yeah, yeah he’s gonna miss him. So he says that. He says that he’s going to miss Donghyuck and Donghyuck gives him a long sad look. 

 

Then he laughs, laughs free and airy, colored yellow under the metro lights. 

 

“Come with me then.” He says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

 

“To the war?”

 

“To the world.” 

 

Donghyuck’s eyes look bright, eyebrows raised and lips open like he’s alive, he looks so alive. 

  
  
  
  


Mark finds a post-it note crushed in his pocket when he changes that night. It’s a green slip of paper with blocky handwriting scrawled across the front in blue glitter pen. 

 

Come 2 My Scrimmage Tomorrow Night - 8PM (We Can Talk After)

 

It’s Donghyuck’s handwriting, he recognizes it. 

  
  
  
  


When Mark comes, he finds a spot on the top of the bleachers, a good vantage point. Perfect for hiding out away from the group of stretching cheerleaders and for watching Donghyuck with eagle eyes. 

 

One of the cheerleaders comes climbing up the bleachers though, determined smile and all. She has thick hair, shiny and tied back into the highest ponytail Mark has ever seen. She’s cute, cute in the way that Mark can tell she cuts the crusts off her sandwiches and folds her gum wrappers. Cute in the way that Mark can tell she’s had the way she’s going to lose her virginity planned out since the eighth grade. (Halfway in the backseat of a Cadillac Issue 455 JetEngineer and the other half on the stiff sheets of some overpriced hotel, prom corsage still around her wrist.)

 

He notices an imbalance when she walks, a metallic sheen to her leg, waxy-new skin bound tightly around fabricated muscle and simulated nerve endings, all shaped into a lean girlish thigh. With legs like that Mark can tell she’s a virgin, there’s something about virgin legs. 

 

She’s cute but maybe not cute enough to lose his Donghyuck Addled brain to. It’s too early to tell though because she’s only just walked up the damn stairs. 

 

“Hey,” She says, settling next to Mark and pulling her knees up to her chest to mimic him. “You’re new.” Her voice isn’t chirpy like Mark thought it would be, but husky, satisfactory. 

 

Down the court Donghyuck slams another hoop and Yukhei sends orders down the sidelines. There’s sweat soaking up the front of their uniforms and shoes squeak against the floor. Mark licks his lips. 

 

“Yeah, I go to West End.” 

 

She gives him an unsubtle once over at that and folds her hands into her lap, picking at an invisible thread of her uniform with a glossy nail. 

 

“I heard West End boys were troublemakers, are you here for the cheerleaders?” She says it like she’s trying at nonchalant but it falls into this brazen bloody-cheeked question. 

 

“I’m waiting on someone,” He tells her, politely. 

  
  
  


When Donghyuck finishes up, he looks boneless and sated, glowing. Tired. He goes lax against his teammate’s shoulder and for the first time, looks right up at Mark like he’s known that he was here the whole time. 

 

He mumbles something through a wide smile, pushing away from the other boy with a slap on his back. Mark still can’t look away, drawn in like a bee to honey, moth to flame, dog to spoiled meat. There’s no more bees or honey on earth but it’s still a nice sentiment. 

 

The girl seems to catch onto who Mark is waiting for and inhales sharply, quietly, like she didn’t mean to. 

 

“Oh,” She says, “Him.” 

 

The back row of lights switch off with a whacking noise, leaving Donghyuck all backlight and glowy, his messy hair floofed up into an illuminated halo. It’s still so hard to imagine him being drafted, shipped off to the Big War. He looks so small down there.

 

“Him?” Mark asks, not looking away, it sounds more like a statement than a question. 

 

She’s gone when he turns to look at her though, and Donghyuck is almost on him. 

 

“You met Sookhee?” 

 

“Sookhee?” Mark asks, half guilty for not getting her name and half in a trance because Donghyuck smells so-- boyish. Musky cologne and sweat. 

 

“Yeah, my twin. I see we have the same taste in boys.” 

 

“You have a twin?” 

 

That must be a pretty funny question because Donghyuck laughs himself into Mark, settling into his side. 

 

“You didn’t know?”

 

Mark shakes his head and Donghyuck just smiles, like he’s never smiled before, a different kind of smile. Like he’s waiting for Mark to get something. He’s patient though and swipes at Mark’s nose with his thumb. 

 

Then it clicks, “You like me?” Mark asks, “I’m your… taste?” 

 

Donghyuck smiles, swipes his thumb over Mark’s nose again before nodding, still smiling, nodding and smiling. Then he leans in and fits their mouths together. Nothing tastes more alive than a boy half dead

  
  
  


The next day Mark doesn’t go by Space Jam, he doesn’t have to, Donghyuck is coming over later. To his house, like, to his bedroom. 

  
  
  


At ten o’clock that night they’re falling into Mark’s room, hands roaming and the door kicked shut carelessly.

 

"Date me." Donghyuck says, feverishly. "We should go out."

 

They’re on Mark’s bed, the one with the space blankets. Mark pulls back to press his lips against Donghyuck's mouth again, just a plain kiss. A plain kiss that tastes like radioactive fizzybomb and teenage boy tongue. “Okay.” He tells Donghyuck, “Okay.” 

 

The gears and gimbos of Mark Lee’s monkey brain short for a moment after, like the great bigness of the decomposing space rock of their planet stops for a second and heaves a sigh like relief. Donghyuck is his. The Russians are coming, Australia has melted and Donghyuck Lee is his. 

 

That thought is all it takes for the world to restart again, Donghyuck to restart again. Then the wolves are out and by that Mark means Donghyuck’s teeth are on his throat, all spit spunk and shimmer sparkle, crackling at the edges and pulsing bright pink. 

 

“Just like that?” Donghyuck asks, “Plain and simple?” 

 

Nothing about Lee Donghyuck is plain and simple but Mark wants him bad, weak in the knees like some hairpin firecracker is in there instead of all the right ligaments. So he says it back, looking for Donghyuck’s lips along the way, “Plain and simple.” 

  
  
  


They take the metro to Mexico, Donghyuck wears a cabby hat and a jacket that covers the pinkened tips of his fingers down to his knees. Mark keeps his hand in Donghyuck’s back pocket at the station and when the guard comes onboard to check papers Mark has Donghyuck pressed against the cramped train bathroom wall, half biting at his neck and half laughing at the absurdity of it all. He’s running away with Donghyuck Lee. 

 

Away from the war soup. No more Lee Donghyuck dissolving into the ice caps, just Lee Donghyuck warm and solid against his side, smile tucked into Mark’s shoulder. Real and Alive. Still becoming all the things Mark hadn’t seen coming and making up everything Mark wants to live in, to crawl up and sleep in. A safety net love, except, there’s nothing safe about Loving Lee Donghyuck. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/crushcults) \+ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/crushcults)  
> commission 4 @fool4hyuck on twt!!  
> kudos & comments mean a lot <3


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